


Regret

by Mohini



Series: Bits and Pieces [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Vomiting, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, myoelectric prosthesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 12:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16853893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohini/pseuds/Mohini
Summary: There are people who like this. He's absolutely certain he is not one of them.





	Regret

The things he regrets could fill a book.

Right now, though, he regrets agreeing to this damn study.

MDMA as a therapeutic tool. The recruitment literature for the study sounded enticing. A little pill to allow emotion processing in a controlled therapy setting without encountering as much pushback from hard wired denial of feelings existing. It sounded made for him.

Now he’s shivering on the floor of the bathroom. Sweat drenched, teeth grinding despite all efforts to clench his jaw tightly and make. it. stop.

Unusually sensitive, or some such rot. He left the office still reeling, his nerves raw and the world too bright and every air current making his skin do terrible things to his brain. Or maybe his brain was sending screwy signals. One of those. The people running the study said it would pass and to drink plenty of water in the interim. He thinks this might not be normal, it might not be what he read to expect in the aftermath. It doesn’t matter.

Whatever it was, he’s not leaving the bathroom until this ends.

Every nerve in his body is on fire. He’s hyperaware of the connection point between prosthetic and flesh. Removing the myoelectric extension of himself made it worse, though, the phantom of his missing hand and forearm flaring into vibrant, painful existence. He’s never shoved the metal monstrosity back into place with greater speed.

A gag forces its way up his throat and he leans over the toilet. A spurt of liquid sloshes into the water. Even being sick is strange, the signals confused. Floating colors and echoing sound, the tingle of liquid clinging to his lips.

The hinges of the bathroom door need oiling as they herald Steve’s reappearance

“Still sick?” he asks, dropping to his knees beside James.

“I can’t stop.”

His body helpfully supplies a groaning heave that brings up exactly nothing to illustrate the words. This hurts. It hurts his chest, his gut, his knees in their cramped position pressed against the tile. The hand clenched around the rim of the toilet aches and burns and goes wholly numb in turns. The room rocks and spins and his very skin seems to be crawling in undulating waves of not right.

Steve puts a hand on his back and it’s all James can do not to strike out. The touch _burns_.

“Don’t touch me,” he growls instead, trying to shrink away from the hand that should be comfort and is absolutely, horribly not. His stomach clenches and frothy bile erupts from his throat, coating his tongue and plunging him into a cycle of retching that doesn’t stop until he’s seeing stars.

Steve’s saying something beside him, but he doesn’t care anymore. He drags in a burning breath and fumbles to flush the evidence away. Again. The spray from the toilet peppers his face with what feels like a thousand icy blades but he can’t force himself to lift his head up. His neck feels locked in position, and he fears any movement will just restart the cycle.

There are people who _like_ this.

He regrets everything.


End file.
